


A Very Exclusive Fraternity

by Jedi Buttercup (jedibuttercup)



Category: Jurassic Park Original Trilogy (Movies), Jurassic World Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: First Meetings, Gap Filler, Gen, Pre-Jurassic World (2015), Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-03 16:34:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19467850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedibuttercup/pseuds/Jedi%20Buttercup
Summary: Before he tried to come up with any sort of plan, Owen wanted a better idea of what he'd be dealing with, and he knew better than to trust the InGen guys to give him the details.





	A Very Exclusive Fraternity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [philote_auctor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/philote_auctor/gifts).



Owen climbed slowly out of his jeep in the parking lot of the Museum of the Rockies, stretching muscles gone stiff after the long drive from his last hotel. He probably could have flown straight from California to Montana rather than doing it by road trip, but he'd felt like he needed the time to think after his mind-bending job interview at the InGen headquarters in San Diego. And how better to burn that time than making a visit to the world's leading expert on the animal he was being hired to study?

...Well, they'd _said_ study. But there were a lot of animal behaviorists who _hadn't_ served in the military; he had no illusions about what kind of 'training' and 'behavioral research' InGen probably had in mind. The question was, was it even possible?

He'd still been a teenager when the original Jurassic Park had failed before it even opened, and had been away in the Navy during the subsequent incidents on Isla Sorna. And not surprisingly, the new park's designers had not included any six-foot-tall death machines among their public attractions. So the amount Owen really knew about the recreated theropods he'd be expected to work with was little more than could be found in any kid's dinosaur picture book. Before he tried to come up with any sort of a plan he wanted a better idea of what he'd be dealing with, and he knew better than to go to the InGen guys for the details.

If he wanted to know how big they were or how fast they could run, that'd be one thing. But what their group structure was like, whether they were even capable of being taught complex commands-- that wasn't something he could ask a geneticist, or an 'asset manager' whose knowledge of the subject came from reports written by long-dead game wardens. So he'd stopped by a library to thumb through the back catalog of all the academics known to have visited Las Cinco Muertes, and concluded that if anyone alive could give him the answers he wanted, it would be Dr. Alan Grant.

The skies were clear and a little on the chill side that day, though not quite cold enough for a jacket; a light scudding of pale clouds hazed the mountains ringing the valley where the museum and its parent university made their home. It was beautiful country, though not his ideal; whenever he thought about eventually retiring and building a cabin, he'd always imagined somewhere a little less populated and with a few more trees. But it must be Grant's, since the paleoarcheologist had spent most of his adult life either there or on various digs in the northern parts of the state. Luckily, he hadn't been out on one of them when Owen had called to set up his visit, or there'd be a few more hours of driving yet to go.

Owen shook his head at the thought, then headed for the building, glancing up at the brass cast T-Rex skeleton out front as he went by. If all went well, he'd probably be seeing a live example of that one too before long, a thought almost as strange as the idea of actually _training velociraptors_. Trippy as hell to a kid that had grown up on reruns of Land of the Lost. But it was also the kind of opportunity that came along once in a lifetime, if that; how could he not grab onto it with both hands?

Dr. Alan Grant, when he finally reached the man's office, proved to be both more personable and more intense than he'd seemed in his old TV interviews. He was almost as tall as Owen, still broad through the shoulders and deeply tanned from a summer spent excavating, with a firm, callused grip. The associate professor who'd ushered him in had been more Owen's age, muscled like an athlete; Grant, on the other hand, looked exactly like what he was: a hard worker who'd spent several decades bouncing back and forth between field and office. But he still had the glint in his eye of a man who enjoyed his work, and had no shits left to give for the vagaries life threw at him.

No wonder he'd survived running with actual dinosaurs. Owen's kind of people.

"Dr. Grant," he greeted him. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."

"Mr. Grady," Grant nodded back. "Don't thank me too soon. My associate, Dr. Brennan, tells me that you're here on InGen business?"

"Well, more or less," Owen hedged. He didn't blame Grant for being wary of the name after everything, but it would be a little hard to explain why he was there without mentioning them. "Their business, but I came on my own initiative."

"Did you? You must be new, then," Grant replied with a wry half-smile.

His tone was sharp, amused, almost condescending; Owen raised his eyebrows at the tone. "Yeah? What makes you say that?"

"I've made it very clear on multiple occasions that in no way will I ever visit, review, advise, or in any manner endorse the current park," Grant replied, smile tightening. "Not for the opening seven years ago; not for the five year anniversary; and definitely not for the tenth, if it survives that long. Nor will I soften one word of my statements about the company's theme park animals; my original non-disclosure agreement has long since been terminated, and my accidental trip to Isla Sorna was in no way subject to InGen's oversight or control."

The statement had the air of something oft repeated; it also carried distinct, unapologetic undertones of _put that in your pipe and smoke it_.

Owen let his own grin sharpen a little as he replied. "Well, it's a good thing I'm not here for that, then, isn't it? How do you feel about being consulted as a subject matter expert, instead?"

"...Subject matter expert?" Dr. Grant repeated. "But the only thing I'm an expert in that InGen still cares about is...." He trailed off, posture stiffening with alarm.

"Velociraptors," Owen finished the sentence with a nod. "Not for public viewing this time, though; for behavioral research. They're breeding them again from scratch, hoping to avoid the problems they had with them before. But most of their DNA's still going to be very similar to the ones you encountered, so I thought it might help to get a few pointers before I start interacting with them."

"Now I _know_ you're new," Grant scoffed. "The best pointer I can give you is never to set foot on those islands in the first place. Whatever they're paying you, it won't be anywhere near enough."

Owen shrugged. "If money was all that mattered to me, I wouldn't have joined the Navy, or become an animal behaviorist. I'm here for the animals-- and the challenge. And you know more about velociraptors-- the real ones, _and_ InGen's-- than anyone else alive."

Grant stared him up and down for a moment; then sighed and reached for the hat rack in the corner of the office, lifting down a battered brown specimen that was even more Indiana Jones than the rest of him. "This is a conversation better had over a beer. And _you'll_ be the one buying."

In a college town like this one, there was bound to be an excellent brewpub nearby; not exactly a hardship as a way to wrap up the day. "Never expected anything different. Thank you, Dr. Grant."

"Alan. And as I said, don't thank me yet. If you're serious about joining this particular very exclusive fraternity, without getting either yourself _or_ anyone else eaten, then I'll have a lot to cover...."

Owen followed the older man back to the parking lot, grinning all the way.


End file.
